


the fool's choice

by ferbiedragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferbiedragon/pseuds/ferbiedragon
Summary: varric goes down in a fight.hawke does not take it well.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	1. the fight, the fall

The events of the day are this: Varric goes down (badly) in a fight, and Hawke loses her mind. Just a little, of course, because Hawke is a professional, but, well- it happens like this.

They are fighting Tal'Vashoth on the Wounded Coast, a large group that's made a fine mess of several small groups of travelers, one merchant caravan, and a young noble couple seeking a 'reprieve' from their harsh life in Hightown.

It's so common a scenario that Hawke thinks very little of it. She's throwing banter with her teammates just as much as she is tossing lightning at their opponents. Since the Deep Roads, she and Garrett have been splitting 'Hawke Duties' between them, and somehow she always ends up with the ones out on the Coast. She supposes she isn't terribly upset.

He's helping Merrill with something near Sundermount today. It's him, Aveline, and Merrill, wading through giant spiders in search of herbs. Considering her last run-in with the eight-legged fiends, she thinks she'll take the Tal'vashoth.

"Isabela, try that gouging thing!" Hawke calls. It's raining, as it always seems to be on the Coast, and the battle is a good distraction from the rain currently pooling in her boots. "With your dagger and the knees!"

"Oh, pet, I've been doing that!" Isabela laughs. Being near the ocean always seems to make her happy, which is part of the reason Hawke had asked her to come in the first place. "If you could see the faces they make!"

"A poor time for joking." Fenris intones; somehow, even in the thick of battle, his voice hardly raises. She hears the singing of his blade as he parries a spear, and the guttural inhale of a Tal'Vashoth as he plunges it into flesh. "We are outnumbered." a year in Kirkwall has done him some good, Hawke thinks. She swears she even heard him make a joke, the other day.

He was marvelous in the Deep Roads. Even better since they returned. Somehow, she'd missed the sound of a greatsword or a maul swinging through the air. Carver's with the Wardens now though, and anyway, Fenris doesn't whine nearly as much.

She suspects, also, that he and Isabela have been making a habit of 'sparring' together, which is excellent for them. It's probably helped him loosen up a little, and he's gotten better at Wicked Grace, to boot.

"Hey, Broody, stop giving the enemy confidence!" Varric doesn't sound like he's terribly worried about anything. He never does, though, and it's not like they're outmatched or anything. They've taken on worse odds than this and hardly even thought about it. Bianca sings a sweet tune as he fires off a volley of shots. "Hah! One more for the dwarf! How many have you gotten, Hawke?"

Varric has been marvelous lately. Well, he's always marvelous, but Hawke has been noticing it more and more. Something about him has changed since the Deep Roads, much like it has with the others, and she supposes that one's brother being a terrible, traitorous little ass-nug (she's proud of that last insult, personally) will do that to a person.

Maybe there's kinship there. They both lost a brother, in some capacity, down below the surface. They're both technically still alive, of course, but his is a hidden coward and hers is a Warden and might as well be dead, so it evens out.

The point is, though, that things feel different between them, and maybe they have for a little while now. Probably since Feynriel, and the Fade, and seeing him for the first time and realizing that wow, alright, he is _actually_ as handsome as he claims. All of her friends are hot, no doubt, but Varric is... another level, at least to Hawke.

They're friends. Good friends, of course, and that's it, and so what if she's been dancing around asking him to bed? He'd say no, if she did. He isn't into humans, he's made that fairly obvious, and she's also got a feeling that there's more to 'Bianca' than just a crossbow, and it's all very complicated and annoying. Hawke likes things _simple_. Easy.

It's just been too long since she got laid. She makes a note to visit the Rose sometime in the near future, as she sends a sheet of ice onto the ground before her, tripping a Tal'Vashoth and sending him to his knees. Rosie lunges from her space beside her and sinks her teeth in, and she hears the gurgle as the warrior dies.

"I think that makes four!" she announces. "Because Rosie is such a good girl, yes she _is_ , who eats throats for dinner? It's you!"

Rosie bays triumphantly, and Hawke grins. "How many guests at the party, still?" she calls out.

"Three." Fenris answers, voice tight. She thinks he might be in the middle of doing that fisting thing of his.

"I saw four," Isabela calls, her tone a little confused.

"I _see_ three," Fenris clarifies, and Hawke has about three seconds to think about what that means, and where an entire qunari could have disappeared to, before Isabela speaks again, except there's no teasing lilt in her voice now, no playful wit, just a sharp and sudden warning shout,

"Rogue!"

Hawke hears steps in the sand close by and twists to bring her staff up and block the oncoming attack. In the same second, Rosie turns at her feet, just as startled as she is, and then something shoves Hawke hard and she trips over her own feet and falls onto the sand.

It isn't a terribly dignified way to go down, all things considered, but she doesn't feel the stinging pain of daggers in her back so she thinks her clumsiness and Rosie's big body have saved her from the worst of it, until she hears a sharp gasp in a voice that is _too familiar_ , and a stout body collapses nearby and Bianca's hinges creak as she falls and Fenris snarls, "The dwarf is down!" and his voice lifts to a shout and she understands-

"Varric-" she struggles to right herself, scrabbling in the sand until her fingers find the edges of a leather duster. Beside her, Rosie lunges, and she hears bone snap when the mabari grabs the rogue by the arm, and Isabela rushes in, and none of it matters at all. Hawke's world narrows to a single injured dwarf lying on the ground.

"Varric, answer me, Varric, _Varric_ -" she's being ridiculous, she knows. Her hands dance over his shape. It can't be that bad. It can't be. Any moment now he'll sit up and groan and tell her he needs to learn how to parry better, and then-

Her fingers find the handle of a dagger, buried to the hilt in his glorious chest. She finds another just under his collarbone. Blood wells warm and sticky beneath her palms and Varric takes in a breath, horrid and rattling and _wheezing_ and wet-

Just like Carver, _just like father, with the reek of darkspawn in the air and fire and ash_ -

"Hawke-" Varric says, choked and weak, and it sounds like _Hok_ and then he coughs and she knows, she knows from the sound there is blood in his throat and mouth. She hunches over his body as if she can protect him somehow from the danger still around them. She doesn't know if the enemy is gone, she thinks Rosie has the rogue and Isabela must be close but, there were others, and fuck, _fuck_ -

"Hold on, Varric." she tells him desperately. One hand reaches up, seeking his face. She puts her palm to his cheek, feels the sweat-slick skin, or maybe that's the drizzling rain. "Just hold on. This is nothing, right? Nothing can take out my favorite dwarf. You're too powerful." she laughs. It sounds like crying. Fuck. "You still have to find Bartrand, don't you? You have to finish that story, you idiot!"

He makes a raspy sound that might be her name again. The dagger must be in his lung, or close to it, and suddenly she is very upset that she's no healer, that flesh rends better for her than it does knit.

The edge of a gloved hand brushes hers. He tries to put his palm over her fingers, but he shakes too hard.

"Fenris!" she screams the name. She lifts her head, listening for the din of battle, and finds that there is none left. "Fenris, we have to-"

"I am here." suddenly the elf is beside her. "I am here, Hawke, move, and I will lift him."

Hawke drops back, and listens as Fenris picks Varric up from the ground. The dwarf groans with pain, hisses "Shit" through gritted teeth.

"Anders." Hawke decides. "We have to go. Now, Fenris, please." she finds her feet, finally, and stands. "Darktown. Don't _wait_ , Fenris, go, please-" Fenris is already walking, jogging, really, and Hawke reaches out to find her hound. "Rosie, where's Rosie?"

A soft nose pushes against her hand, and Hawke reaches down Rosie's neck to the handle of her harness.

"I've got Bianca!" Isabela announces, coming up alongside them. "Maker, I finally get to hold her and Varric can't watch and be jealous? That spoils half the fun." She hooks one arm through Hawke's and they start off, hurrying after Fenris, and the injured dwarf.

It's a long trek. The longest, Hawke believes, that they have ever travelled, Deep Roads be damned. Darktown feels like it must be a hundred years away, and there's only so fast they can run through sand. Fenris is fastest, though, and by the time they actually reach the stone streets of Kirkwall, he is so far ahead that Hawke can scarcely hear his footsteps.

"Easy, pet, he'll be alright." Isabela says as they move; she could be speaking to Hawke, or Bianca. She hasn't let go of either of them yet, which is likely a good idea on her part, as Hawke isn't entirely sure she could keep her feet at the moment, and Bianca is, of course, a crossbow.

Hawke says nothing, and it isn't very often that a Hawke- any Hawke- has nothing to say.

Lowtown is quiet, this time of day. Hawke thinks it must be sometime in the afternoon, at least judging by the feel of the sun on her skin, and there's always a lull between now and evening, when the market opens up again and less than reputable goods begin to change hands, and the pickpockets all come out the play.

Darktown is even quieter. It's honestly a miracle that they make it to the clinic door without being accosted by some group of thieves or mercenaries or general cut-throats, since it seems like it happens most every time. Hawke wagers that the sight of a glowing elf on a mission, carrying both a wounded dwarf and a still-bloody (probably) greatsword has given them reason to pause.

Which is nice. At least a few of them must have brains.

Fenris does not wait for them to catch up. Hawke hears him beating on the door of the clinic- it sounds like he might be using his heel to do it- and calling, "Mage! Open the door!" and Anders must do it, because, shortly after, she hears,

"Andraste's _flaming pyre_ , what happened?!"

"He'll be right as rain in no time." Isabela says, and Hawke still can't tell if she's reassuring her or the damned crossbow, but somehow, she thinks it's likely they both need it.


	2. the aftermath

"I'm going to kill him." Hawke says, to no one in particular, sitting in the small room adjacent to Anders' surgery. She supposes she could be talking to Rosie, but she doesn't think the hound is terribly invested in hearing her berate a currently injured dwarf. Maybe Bianca? She's supposedly propped up on a stool nearby.

Not Isabela. Hawke has no idea where the pirate's disappeared to, but she's not here now, which is annoying because it means she has to complain to no one in particular.

"I mean it, really." she says. "When he wakes up, I'm going to _throttle_ him with my own two hands, you just wait and see if I don't!" and then she groans, because she knows she's being ridiculous still, and she really wants to put her head in her hands and hunch over but, well, she's fairly certain they're still covered in blood. "Stupid bloody dwarf. _What_ was he thinking? Bloody fucking _idiot_..."

"I hope you're talking to Rosie." says Garrett, startling Hawke out of her quiet grousing. She turns her head towards him; she hadn't even noticed him walk in, which is generally impossible, because he is giant stone-footed lout who wears ridiculously heavy army. Maker, she's been _distracted_. "Because if you're talking to yourself, I'll worry you're going mad."

"I'll have you know I was speaking to Rosie _and_ Bianca." Hawke shoots back. She narrows her eyes in his direction. "You interrupted our admittedly somewhat one-sided conversation, you over-sized albatross."

"Oh dear. Someone's in a mood." Garrett walks over and sits down beside her, big enough to jostle her some. "I'd be wounded if I weren't such a _jolly_ sort." he chuckles softly, and then leans in a little, and she hears his voice turn a little gentler, "Isabela said you were here. We were starting to wonder where you were, I've been home for ages."

"Isabela." Hawke puffs out. "She was quick enough to scamper off. How'd you find her?"

"She came to me, actually." Garrett shrugs one shoulder. "She was walking Fenris home, and there was a good deal of blood on them both, so I was understandably a little concerned," he sighs, "but then they explained what happened on the Coast so, while I'm still worried for our dear dwarfy friend, I'm admittedly relieved that you aren't dead."

"I don't _get_ to die." Hawke growls out, quietly. She feels like she's said it a lot lately, but it's just true, dammit. "You shouldn't be worried, Garrett. Trust me, the Maker is dragging out my fucking torture as long as he damned well can."

"I don't like when you talk that way, Mari." her twin admonishes. She ducks her head and hunches her shoulders, and he nudges her side a little."What's gotten into you? You weren't this sour when Fenris took that blow to the head last month."

"Fenris was sour enough for any army, he didn't need any help." Hawke grumbles. She sits, stiff and tense, for a few moments more, before she gives up and leans against his shoulder. He's not wearing his full armor at the moment, just his leathers and the clothing beneath, so the familiar warmth of him is comforting. No one is as familiar as her twin, who she's known even before birth. Which is sort of a gross thought, honestly, but in the moment it's nice enough.

"...Fenris wasn't my _fault_." she says at length, eyes closing half-way, although it hardly matters. "This was. Varric is such a damned fool, that rogue was going for me. I could have taken the blow. I'd have been fine."

"Oh yes?" Garrett tilts his head. "Did you start wearing armor while I wasn't looking?"

"I wear my robes." she answers shortly. "And enough armor to get by."

"Anything made of cloth doesn't really count as armor." Garrett sighs.

"Yes, alright, fine, but Varric doesn't wear much himself, does he?" she points out. "More to the point, he's _smarter_ than that. Smart enough to know he shouldn't be _throwing himself_ into danger, the idiot bastard. He's usually much more self-serving, I don't know when this _selfless_ act caught on..." her throat feels all tight and she swallows hard, closing her eyes fully, lest she start to cry. She _refuses_ , dammit.

"The Deep Roads, probably." Garrett shrugs. "He hides it well. He's always been sort of selfless though, hasn't he? To us, at least. He pays to make sure Merrill stays safe, and Anders."

"Those are business expenses." Hawke mumbles. "He's just protecting investments."

"Sure he is." her brother chuckles. "That's what he says, of course. But he's not nearly as much of a shit as he pretends to be. I would know," he nudges her, "because I am the king of shit mountain."

She snorts a laugh. She can't help it. "You're the king of no-brain mountain." she answers back.

"It's possible to be king of two things, you weasel." he informs her, then sighs. "Just try not to be too put-out with him, alright? I'm sure he had good reason, and anyway, he'll probably be sore enough to regret it anyway."

"If he gets the chance. He probably-" she chokes, and has to take a minute to breathe and calm down, and _not panic, dammit_. "...probably won't even _make_ it, with my fucking luck."

"First of all, that's not just your luck. That's Hawke luck. Spread the wealth, sister, don't hog it." Garrett reaches up, ruffling her hair, and she groans and shoves his hand away; he knows she hates that, has hated it since they were children. It makes her feel like he thinks _he's_ oldest when, in fact, she's got seven entire minutes on him. "Second of all, he won't die. Anders has him."

"Mm." Hawke huffs a breath. Anders _is_ a good healer. It's possible she's just being ridiculous, but she thinks she can be forgiven, and, anyway, healing magic is complex. Anders has a good hold on it- and he has Justice to back him up- but she can't help but worry... "He'd better be fine." she decides to say. "Or I'll walk right into the fucking... Stone, or wherever dwarves go when they die, and drag his sorry arse back out, and lecture him for as long as I can about stupid risks."

"Aww. Just like father used to do for us." Garrett sighs wistfully. "Brings a tear to my eye, thinking how much like him you are."

"Oh, shove it up your arse, you big lug." she nudges his side, which doesn't so much, honestly, he's built like a brick house and he's much too big for her to move. Then she sighs, and leans against him. "...thank you."

"No problem, sister dear." he hugs her closer to his side. "Now, as for what you'll do when Varric wakes up. I've got a few ideas..."


	3. the awakening

Varric wakes with a splitting headache, which is not altogether that uncommon an occurence, except that, this time, it is accompanied by a deep, burning ache in his chest, which definitely seems like it hurts worse when he takes too deep a breath. That's a problem, because the first thing he does when he regains consciousness is take in a large gulp of air, so his first few moments back in the world of the living are full of a spine-wrenching sort of pain.

Not his favorite feeling in the world. He groans, quietly. His throat feels very dry.

"Well, well, well." says a voice from beside him. Varric hazards to crack open one eye, and (when his vision settles) he finds himself looking at Hawke, sitting in a chair beside what appears to be his cot. A cursory glance around the room, subtle as he can make it, reveals that he's in Blondie's clinic, which answers a few of his more pressing questions almost immediately. Hawke isn't done speaking though, giving him very little time to process.

"You're finally awake! That's good, Varric, we were starting to worry about you." she's not looking in his direction; her gaze is focused down, and he sees that she has something in her lap... a crossbow. _The_ crossbow. His Bianca is resting in Hawke's arms as if she belongs there, and Hawke is very idly stroking the polished wood of her handle, which is an interesting sight, and would, in fact, be pretty _tittilating_ if not for his current state of injury.

Ah, yes. Injury. He remembers the Coast, and the rogue, and the daggers, and Hawke, crouching over him in the rain, wailing his name like the heroine in one of his shittier serials.

It makes him think of ripping bodices, suddenly. Ripping bodices, and Hawke, and _that_ is... not the sort of thought he should be having while lying in a cot in a clinic, let alone about _Hawke_ of all people. He'd be telling lies if he tried to claim it hadn't been a recurring thought, recently.

Not just ripped bodices, of course. Any number of his untoward thoughts has become suddenly and inexplicably tangled up in the idea of _Hawke_ , lately. It's hard to explain why.

He isn't even sure he wants to.

"Hey, Hawke." he says, or tries to, but it comes out raspy and thick and not nearly as smooth as he'd prefer. He clears his throat, and tries again. "Hey, Hawke. Good to see you too."

"Is it?" Hawke asks. Her fingers dance over the shining metal on Bianca's sides, like she's trying to memorize the feel of the crossbow, the weight of her that Varric knows almost as well as his own heartbeat. He opens his other eye, since it seems like he ought to be paying attention. "I suppose I wouldn't know."

"Wasn't a blind joke." Varric rasps. Slowly- very slowly- he pushes himself up into a sitting position. The pain isn't quite so bad, now that he's had a minute or two to acclimate himself. He props himself up on his pillow, which is hard because the thing is damned near totally flat, and lifts his hands to his chest, looking down to survey the damage.

There's a new scar below his collarbone, the skin freshly pink and puckered with newness, but still entirely healed. Below that is a bandage, a square pad of cotton cloth held in place by some sticky substance that, from the smell, he guesses to be made of elfroot.

"Shit." he murmurs. "Not as bad as I thought."

"Is it not?" Hawke laughs softly. It doesn't sound like she actually finds anything funny. "Oh, well, that's wonderful then, isn't it? " she adjusts Bianca lovingly in her hold. He's starting to get a little nervous, actually, because she keeps inching closer to Bianca's trigger and, while he's _hoping_ Hawke doesn't intend to shoot him (and he doesn't think his Bianca would let it happen) she's kind of got the same look on her face as when they confronted Sister Petrice, after Ketojan killed himself.

Murderous, but with a smile. It's a patented Hawke look. Varric can't say he's much a fan of having it levelled at him.

"...is there, uh, something I'm missing here, Hawke?" he hazards to ask, although he suspects she would probably tell him even if he hadn't. "Call me crazy, but I figured you'd be, uh... happy? That I'm not dead."

"Oh, we're happy." Hawke says, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Ecstatic, honestly. Just so you know," she pauses. "Just, of course, to keep you in the loop, you _did_ almost die. Anders says," she shifts in her seat, "that, if Fenris hadn't gotten you here before us, or if we'd waited any longer at all, you probably would have drowned in your own blood. That happens, by the way, when a dagger goes through your fucking lung."

"Makes sense." he rasps. He wonders if there's a chance she might interrupt her own diatribe and hand him some water, but he doubts it, and he doesn't want to ask. He's been wounded enough today.

"Yes, it does. And _that_ happens," she carries on, "I mean, a dagger in your lung happens, when you do stupid things like _put yourself between me and a fucking rogue_ , like an idiot, like the worst, most moronic dwarf I've _ever_ met in my _life_ , and Bianca," she lifts the crossbow slightly, "agrees with me."

Varric squints at his weapon. He can almost hear Bianca's voice- actual Bianca, not his crossbow- saying pretty much the same thing, and he'd find it funny, how close Hawke is to being _absolutely correct_ except, one, she doesn't know about his Bianca and, two, he's still a little worried she might shoot him. Just to teach him a lesson.

He clears his throat instead. "Well, Hawke, you know me." he tries for a casual tone, hoping the familiarity might help calm her down. "I never have a plan. Too much work."

"Wrong." Hawke leans forward. "Wrong! _So_ wrong. Sorry, were you pretending to be _me_ just now? Because I'm the one who doesn't plan, Varric. I guess you missed that, somehow, in the time we've been friends, but I'm the one who rushes in and you're the one who _thinks things through_ , and you _don't_ get yourself stabbed, and almost die- out on the Wounded Coast, you _hate_ the Coast, your fucking spirit would've haunted me forever!"

She has tears in her eyes, he realizes. He's only seen Hawke cry a handful of times before (a fight with her mother, or when Rosie was sick, or the Deep Roads) so he knows it isn't something she does easily, which means that she's serious, that she isn't just giving him shit for what was, admittedly, kind of a stupid move.

Shit.

"Shit." he says, out loud, both because he feels like it's apt and to buy himself some time.

"Varric, I need you to tell me _what the fuck_ you were thinking." Hawke continues. "Tell both of us, in fact, because I'm pretty sure Bianca is just as mad as I am, if not more, because you also dropped her when you fell." she sniffs, lifts a hand and dashes it across her eyes. She never _wants_ to cry, she's told him that before, and part of him is a little unsettled to see the (seemingly) invincible Hawke, his friend, so upset.

"Hawke..." he starts, and then stops, because he really honestly isn't sure what to say next. How to explain what he did. He _can't_ explain what he did, because he doesn't even really know what he was thinking, either. He'd just seen the rogue, slipping up through their defenses, finding Hawke, and she'd started to turn but not fast enough, and he had _moved_ and, well.

Now he's in a cot in Blondie's clinic. Cause and effect, shit, he gets that, and if this were a scene from one of his stories he'd probably be able to dissect the actions better, but this isn't a story. This is him, and Hawke, fighting tears that threaten to spill over anyway and, Maker's fucking breath, he'll do anything to stop _that_ from happening.

"You almost died, Varric." Hawke says, when he fails to continue speaking. " _For me_. Because I was an idiot who couldn't listen for a fucking rogue. Do you have _any_ idea-" she breaks off and turns her head away from him. She sucks in a slow breath. "You can't do that again. You _can't_ , you sodding stupid dwarf, I can't handle it. I know I shouldn't be lecturing _anyone_ on reckless behavior-"

"I wasn't going to say anything." Varric murmurs.

"-thanks, okay, but we can't both be reckless at the same time, it can't happen. You can't die for me, Varric. I'd never able to live with myself if that happened." she stands suddenly, and sets Bianca down, leaning her gingerly against the bed so that she doesn't fall. It's such a thoughtful gesture, but Hawke has never really treated his Bianca like _just_ a crossbow, so it doesn't surprise him.

What _does_ surprise him is Hawke, when she leans over him, unburdened down, and reaches up to touch his cheek. He wonders why, until she smoothes his hair back from his face- it's come free from the usual small ponytail- and then tilts forward, kissing his forehead, very lightly.

It's exactly the sort of gentle, comforting gesture that Varric's come to expect from _absolutely zero people_ , and least of all _Hawke_ , who does 'gentle' about as well as a rampaging bronto. It's probably the most confusing this she's ever done, as confusing as _why_ he put himself into danger for her, except that they're friends, best friends, close friend, and he knows instantly that he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

And maybe Hawke knows that, too.

"You're a stupid bastard." she informs him quietly. "And Anders said you can leave as soon as you feel up to it. Maybe wait until morning. Wouldn't want you getting mugged while you're convalescing." she pats his cheek once, then pulls away from him, and the cot, and walks away from him, and he's only marginally ashamed that he wants to get up and follow after her as quickly as he can.

She crosses the room without missing a step- she knows the clinic's layout by heart, surely- and steps out of the door, closing it behind her, and leaving him to sit in stunned silence, which is quite a feat for anyone, since, as most people know, Varric Tethras _never_ stops talking.

"...well." he breathes, after several long moments have dragged by. "Shit." he leans back on his pillow, body slumping, and closes his eyes. He spends the next few hours that way, peering up at the ceiling and contemplating his life choices.


End file.
